This week…well, things were not as good.  We had grumping, crying, shouting and sulking…all before we even got to Tesco.

The culprit of the frustrations was Mums knitting.  Unfortunately, she didn’t tell me this until we were in the car and having to find somewhere to pull over because I’d totally forgotten to put the seatbelt on Mum and the ‘you’re being naughty not wearing a seatbelt’ alarm was getting as frantic as Mum’s explanations of the problem.

‘It’s not right.  It’s not like that…’ <pointing at the arm of her coat> (a brown puffa type jacket), ‘it’s like that’ <pointing at another part of the same arm>

I was flummoxed.

‘Do you mean it’s smooth? ‘ I asked

‘NO!  It was the colour.  Now it’s pink!’

We’d bought the wool together last week.  It was purple.  All the way through.  I stupidly said this.  I got a:

‘You are not even trying to understand!’ in return, followed by a sulk that lasted until the Tesco carpark.  I tried jollying Mum out the car to be told that ‘I am really cross with the wool shop and I could go and complain because it is just terrible…’

Why didn’t I just agree?!  I said I thought we’d probably be able to work it out when we got home and was awarded *that* look.

*That* look is a Mum special.  As a child I remember if you got *that* look, life was basically not worth living for the foreseeable future.

Luckily, while she used to be able to hold onto sulk for days, Tesco turned out to be a bit of a distraction.  She refused to get the first few things on the list, but the orange juice is her domain so I sent her off to find it.  Then redirected her, twice…and by the time she’d popped it in the trolley she was back in Tesco mode.

We shopped in record time, did a very successful trolley check (I read the list, she tries to find each item in the trolley, just so we know we didn’t forget anything) and left to go to her sisters for a visit.

She went back to the wool issue in the car.

I distracted her by asking for directions.

We got to her sisters and the distraction continued with having to choose between a mini Battenburg and a Cherry Bakewell to go with coffee (she went for both).

While I helped my cousin out with some forms, Mum and her sister chatted quite happily.

Then Mum came to see what we were doing and started telling my cousin a story that was entirely in her head.  And she was utterly convincing because – I assume – she entirely believed what she was saying. As Mum went back to sit with her sister, I told my cousin that no part of what she’d just said was true and explained the actual situation.

And that highlights something for me. Right now, Mum appears to make sense a lot of the time.  But a lot of the time her facts are entirely wrong.  She tells people that she never gets to leave the house and is stuck inside all the time, for example.  Yet this week one of her friends took her out for coffee.  Next week she is meeting a group of friends for lunch. I’ve taken her out, my sisters have taken her out, Dad took her for a drive.  And this is the issue: at what point do we forewarn those people she sees without us around that a lot of her ‘fact’s’ are not?  Because honestly, I don’t want people thinking that she never sees anyone or goes anywhere and we are all mean to her.  And from a more selfish point of view, I don’t want people to have bad – incorrect – opinions of me, or my sisters or my Dad. And then I go full circle in my head and think ultimately, does it really matter? 🤯

Anyway, we went home.  The wool was still an issue.

Fortified with a hot cross bun, we took a look, and I realised mum had swapped needles part way though, so the tension (and therefore appearance) had changed massively.  I tried explaining.  I showed her examples.  I showed her the wool label with the correct needle size on it. I got told ‘No, no, no’ and got *that* look again, followed by mum staring out the window, ignoring me.  That last bit turned out to be rather a lucky thing as while she wasn’t looking, I took a deep breath and undid the entire section she’d knitted on the wrong needles and really quickly put it back on the right needle.  I handed it to her and asked if it looked better.

‘Oh yes.  Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong after all…’ 🤦🏼‍♀️

I’ve now hidden all the needles except the right ones.

Next week maybe we’ll sort out any knitting issues as soon as I get there and go back to Abba and some cooking.  It might be a bit less fraught that way.

This Tuesday wasn’t a good Tuesday.  But it wasn’t entirely terrible; just a bit tough.  And you have to have those days to appreciate the good ones, I guess. 🙂

I need to say at this point as I’ve not so far: I have huge admiration for anyone who is a full time carer dealing with these issues day in, day out – my Dad, especially.

You may remember the photo on the left I posted of Mum and my Aunt last time we visited.  When I was hiding Mums knitting needs I found the one on the right from when they were (a lot!)younger.  💜